


Troubled Waters

by probzn0t



Series: Summer [2]
Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: a little omar/ander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 21:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17568047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probzn0t/pseuds/probzn0t
Summary: Ander’s mild confrontation about quitting tennis with his father at Marina’s wake didn’t quite stick. Two weeks later, Ander’s finally tries to set himself free from the pressures of his father to play tennis, but it doesn’t go as smoothly as he hoped.





	Troubled Waters

**Author's Note:**

> hey all, i couldn’t help but continue the series. i’ve decided to take off where Season 1 ended: with the summer holiday from school starting. i’ll continue the story from there, kind of following my instincts of the ebb and flow of how plots like Elite’s go (however i’m sure season 2 will start with the new school year, and skip over the summer holiday). but i’m very much writing by the seat of my pants, and who knows how long this series will go on for. sorry for errors in advance.

  
“Up, Ander.”

Ander peeled open his eyes and rolled over to glance at the clock. He groaned. 4:30.

“What, Papá?” He squinted at his father who stood tall in the lit doorway.

“Training.”

Ander rolled back over and closed back his eyes. “I told you. I’m done playing tennis.”

His father stepped in the doorway, his shadow looming over the bed, his voice strong. “It’s been two weeks since your friend’s passing. I’ve let you grieve. I’ve been patient. But now it’s time to start thinking of your future again, Ander.”

_He’s_ _been_ _patient_ , Ander scoffed, and with that, he sat up, blankets falling to the wayside. He held back a glare.

“Thank you for waiting papá.” He said, gritting his teeth. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “But I am thinking of my future, it’s just that _tennis_ is not in it.”

His father rolled his eyes, now impatient with his son’s stubbornness.

“Ander, do you even hear what you’re saying?” His an arm shot out in exasperation, his voice growing louder. “The amount of sweat, the amount of time, the amount of money that has gone into making sure you are the best—“

“You don’t think I’ve considered that!?” Ander burst, standing up from the bed. “You think this choice is easy for me? That I _want_ to let down my parents—“

“You will play. You will work hard. You will win matches.” His father talked over him, unhearing. He began to sloppily pull Ander’s tennis gear from his drawers. “Once you’re staring at the piles of scholarship letters to American schools you will change your mind.”

“But papá—“

His father halted, and spun towards Ander. “Do you think you can get into any worthy university based on your academics alone?”

Ander stood silent, mouth agape, watching his father continue rummaging through his drawers. He tried to steady his voice.

“Papá, I don’t care what university I get into. There are more important things to me than going to a prestigious university, than being a tennis champ—“

It was his father’s turn to burst.

“Tennis is the only way you can secure any future, son! Don’t you see? With the talent you have? It’s right there in front of you, your’s for the taking!”

They stepped closer to each other.

“I don’t care about securing my future, papá, if all that means is training hours a day, every day. Playing matches every weekend. Eating, sleeping, and breathing tennis! It’s all I do, papá! I don’t have a life!” He clenched his fists to refrain from punching something in frustration. “How can I have a future if I don’t feel like I’m even living?!”

He heaved a breath and took a step back from his father, suddenly exhausted. “Do you know what _I_ care about, papá? I care about—“

He cut himself off and shook his head. He couldn’t say it, he knew his father would only see it as nativity and childishness. The room filled with quiet tension.

“What do you care about, Ander?” His father questioned softly. But he already knew the answer.

Ander stared at the floor.

His father began to laugh incredulously, which launched his son into motion. Ander began picking up random pieces of clothing off the floor, stuffing them into his tennis bag.

“Is this what all of this is? That boy?” He laughed again in disbelief. “You are not going to ruin your future over a boy who can’t even stand up to his father and admit to him that he’s—“

“But isn’t that what we’re doing right now, papá? Me telling you that I can’t live this life any longer? And you can see how smoothly this is going.”

His father stopped smiling. “This is not the same.”

“Tell me how it isn’t, papá.” He zipped up his bag in finality, looking away in disgust.

His father finally seemed to notice that Ander was packing. “Where are you going?”

Ander stared at his father, his voice cold. “You can pretend I’ve gone to train.”

He brushed past him, grabbing his shoes that laid next to the doorway.

“Where are you going?” His father repeated, calling after him.

Ander ignored him and met his mother in the hallway. He saw tears in her eyes and kissed her cheek. “I’m sorry, mamá.”

“Ander, wait.” She grabbed his hand as he began down the stairs. “We can talk about this.”

“Didn’t you hear?” His head nodded towards his room. “We just did.”

It was quiet as he walked through the rest of the house towards the front door. Silence after an explosion. No one came after him.

Ander opened the front door without looking back and gave it a slam for good riddance. He stepped out onto the sidewalk, unsure of his next move. Where does he go from here?

_Fuck_.

—————————————————

He went to the lake where he and Omar first met, this time to the docks out on the water. He sat and watched the sunrise, but couldn’t see much because of the trees on the horizon. At least the sky looked nice.

God he wanted a joint.

_Fuck_.

It’s not like Ander was running away, it’s not like he’d never return. He just had to get out of the house, out from under his father’s thumb. But he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go from here.

Guzmán wouldn’t answer him, but he didn’t want to bother him with his problems anyway, all things considering. Sami was a no for the same reason. He then thought of Polo, which led him to Christian, which led him to Carla and he shook his head. That was a mess he couldn’t handle right now. Lu? Only a hilarious suggestion, really. And she was probably with Guzmán anyway.

Omar was an obvious no, as was Nadia, but it did remind him to at least send Omar a text to let him know what was going on. He unlocked his screen and scrolled past the missed calls from his mother.

To Omar: _Got_ _in_ _a_ _fight_ _with_ _my_ _father_ , _packed_ _my_ _bags_ _with_ _nowhere_ _to_ _go_. _Don’t_ _worry_ , _I_ _probably_ _won’t_ _last_ _the_ _day_ _away_ , _anyway_. _Miss_ _you_.

He didn’t know when Omar would get his message, considering he kept the burner phone Ander had given him hidden away most of the day. However it beat the communication system they had through Nadia.

He leaned on the weak railing and sighed. Fuck, he really wanted that joint.

He dug into his tennis bag instead, to see what he had blindly packed in the heat of the argument. A jock strap. Two mismatching socks. Plaid pajama pants he never wore. A pair of mesh shorts and a two t-shirts. Yep, he’d be going home soon.

Just not yet.

He looked down at the several tennis balls and racket that laid in his bag and smiled. Picking up a ball, he gave it a firm squeeze and gripped the racket in his hand.

“Sayanora,” he said before launching it into the water with the swing of his racket.

One by one he hit each ball into the lake until he only had his racket left. After twisting the racket a few times in his hand, he simply dropped it the water in front of him, watching it slowly sink into the murky water out of view. Going out with a sizzle and less of a bang. 

That’s what it felt like, anyway.


End file.
